


Pendulum

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Red be smart thou, Red has Anxiety, Red needs a third person to balance his issues, Trailbreaker has anxiety, and then Jazz goes and gets tangled up in it as he always does, but Ratchet insists on letting him choose, competent Red, except inferno, forced but not forced sparkbond, more warnings in fic, they hall have anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Red Alert's a security risk. Likely the worst one the Autobots had.  A weapon, just waiting for the right Decepticon to figure out how to use--and Inferno could no longer be kept at his side, 24/7.So he knew it was coming. Long before Ratchet called him into his office, sat him down. Gave him an overview that showed just how bad things had gotten. The truth Red Alert hadn’t wanted to see, but made himself face anyway.As carefully as a medic could, Ratchet laid down the invisible bomb between them.They were going to give him another sparkmate.
Relationships: Inferno/Red Alert (Transformers), Trailbreaker/Red Alert, Trailbreaker/Red Alert/ Inferno
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Pendulum

**Author's Note:**

> 1)I know Jhiaxus was a person the academy was based off of not a place but screw it I dunno if it’s even mentioned where Trailbreaker’s from and I’m too lazy to look. 
> 
> 2) I’ve had extremely bad anxiety for a while, the kind I need meds for because my brain and meditation just wasn’t cutting it lol. I channeled some of that energy into his fic here, and Red Alert’s glitch. I wanted to write him as someone competent, who used his own anxiety and paranoia to help him, and who got hit hard when he could no longer do so and had it rebound back on him. I don’t write him as helpless, even in the midst of an episode, and I didn’t want to write him as just, someone for Teebs or Inferno to save. Instead, I made it a really weird “we all kinda saved each other” story. I relate his own anxiety to how my own affects me, so its one of those “this is true to me but may not be true to you!” type deals. 
> 
> ***Warnings: This fic deals with my usual roll of ethically/morally fucked up issues! Today we're looking at forcing (not FORCED but forcing) a sparkbond (specifically to help stabilize a mentally ill person which is its own neat ol brand of fucked up) Red having an incurable glitch that causes intense paranoia/anxiety/etc that cannot be fixed (but with talks of him trying to fix it/wanting it fixed at one point, and accepting it cannot be fixed with mentions of other people still trying to fix it when they have switched attention to managing it) annnnd the mentioned option of Red being being such a massive security risk that assassination is a viable option! Also Traibreaker has serious self esteem issues. As always if you want more mentioned, lemme know!

Pendulum 

xxx

Step one, you say we need to talk  
He walks, you say sit down, it's just a talk

* * *

There was a divide in his mind. A wall. 

Red Alert had installed it himself.

It wasn't a real wall. Not a software or any kind of physical barrier, but rather, a mental one he used to divorce himself from the anxiety.

The gnawing pit in his middle that grew bigger and bigger until he had to act just to get it to  _ stop.  _

To break free of the endless, looping worry. 

When he was younger he had better coping mechanisms. Had hidden it, his glitch, as well as anyone could. It wasn’t as bad back then either, didn’t roll over him like it did now. 

Then the war happened, and--

Well.

He'd ended up weaponizing it. His paranoia. The anxiety. 

It worked  _ for  _ him, let him catch things no one else could. Made him better than anyone else, and saved a hell of a lot of mechs in the process. 

It was absolutely, wonderfully, perfect-- right up until it wasn't.

The fact that he was right, again and again, even on some of his wilder theories just fed into it. Amplified it all, until the day when Red made a security call only to be absolutely, totally in the wrong.

By then it was too late. 

Red Alert found himself as the head of security, in charge not just of an entire massive department but of the safety of everyone in the entire Autobot army. An important person in a critical position, with his glitch running wildly out of control.

Essential figures could not fail, and yet he did, again and again, as the war shrank and changed shape. From a far reaching multi planet clusterfuck, to a small handful of extremely important battles with less than five thousand mechs on both sides, duking it out in scattered bits.

It was too much of a change. He couldn’t cope, couldn’t make the leap the same way the Con’s had. The way they fought was different, the strategies were different, what they went after was entirely wrong and soon Red’s attention wasn’t just on them but on his fellow Autobots, then on shadows and noises. 

He knew not all of them were real.

_ Knew it. _

But in the face of his paranoia that meant absolutely nothing. Red was compelled, against his own logic, to  _ act.  _ He had too. It ate him inside out, compulsively, until he did something. 

Anything.

So that things weren’t destroyed. So that they all stayed safe. 

So that the worst didn’t happen, all because he had chosen to ignore it. All those deaths, the loss of the war, would be  _ on him--! _

He was getting worse. Red knew it. Inferno knew it. Pits they all knew it, and the only one with half a prayer to get it all to just fragging stop was his bondmate. 

It was unfair to put that much weight on Inferno. The pressure would break any mech, and he couldn’t hold them both up. Not for the increasingly long amounts of time Red borrowed from Inferno’s own sanity. 

But Red couldn't help it. 

Couldn't stop it. 

What felt like a million years ago his processor had, for once, done something good for him, and latched itself on Inferno. Labeled the mech as safe, as someone who was trustworthy and who had proven himself  _ to be _ trustworthy, time and time again.

It had never allowed him to select anyone else. 

Even when he tried, or desperately wished someone else could be accepted.

If only to make it easier on his partner. 

Rung had gotten as close as anyone could but Red’s processor simply failed to take to the smaller bot.Refused to bring anyone into his confidence, in the way Inferno was. In a way that helped. 

It was brutal. Hard on Red Alert, hard on Inferno and after his last major crash, the one he couldn't think about, the one where he'd almost  _ killed his friends in his own paranoia _ , high command did their best to keep Inferno as close as possible. 

It was easy when there were more of them. When it was the early, even mid days. When they had hope and resources. 

The war went on, and on, and on. They lost more and more mechs. And Inferno was needed. Could no longer be kept as Red's pillar. 

Not when every single person was needed. When someone with Inferno’s talents couldn’t be constantly sidelined. 

They did everything they could to keep the Lamborghini stable when Inferno had to leave. Code patches, medicines, the best options Ratchet could come up with, but once again the war was against them. 

So was time. 

Supplies were low. Inferno was getting called away more, and for longer periods of time. The Autobots couldn't afford the downtime Red Alert needed to recover from their latest attempts, nevermind the issues that arose with what were essentially processor hack jobs.

Good ones, for Ratchet truly was the best medic of their generation, but hack jobs all the same. 

They were band aid fixes, nothing more. The war was getting worse, Red right along with it, and something desperate was going to have to be done. 

Ratchet had too much to do, First Aid was far too young to make an attempt on him, and they couldn't risk flying another medic in.

So he knew it was coming. Long before Ratchet called him into his office, sat him down. Gave him an overview that showed just how bad things had gotten. The truth Red Alert hadn’t wanted to see, but made himself face anyway. 

Then, as carefully as a medic could, Ratchet laid down the invisible bomb between them. 

"I'm sorry. You're going to have to pick another person." Ratchet told him, voice soft. 

They both knew what he meant. 

'It doesn't work like that. I can't  _ make it _ accept people." Red Alert said, talking about his glitch in third person as he often did, knowing full well what the emergency option Ratchet was about to unveil. 

He’d researched it himself of course, the moment it had entered itself in Ratchets patient files. The same ones he monitored, that Ratchet no doubt  _ knew  _ he monitored.

The medic hadn't entered it until after it had been brought up privately with him, but Red knew he'd considered it as an option long before the idea had come in a “secret” meeting. 

Primus, Red Alert himself had considered it, after some of his worst hours. 

"You're right. We can't make your glitch accept someone." And here it came, the words Red was so certain of that he had to stop himself from mouthing along as Ratchet spoke them.

"But we can make your spark."

It was a solid plan as any, blatant war crimes aside. Forcing a second sparkmate would bypass his glitch entirely. It was something done in the old days, forcing a bond on someone glitched to stabilize them. It contained minimal side effects, proved effective at diminishing the effects of most glitches and generally allowed both mechs to lead relatively normal lives. 

It had been banned for as long as Red could remember. 

Or rather, it has been banned  _ publicly.  _ There were rumors that the senate brought it back. Forced bond on mechs as a punishment. Used it just as people had in the old days, as a method of control, a way to force someone to publicly act in a way that wouldn’t embarrass their families. Didn’t care for compatibility, or for any of the other things one needed to carefully consider before joining two mechs together for life. 

Sometimes he looked at Starscream and Megatron and wondered…

There were downsides. Downsides people didn’t talk about, the kind that killed both mechs involved. 

Nevermind the  _ blatant _ ethical and moral issues involved.

Ratchet would only use it in emergencies, and he’d do it the right way. Red knew that for sure, just as he knew why this was considered the absolute last option to help him. That they’d gone down every other road, and that his choices were so slim that it was this, or death. 

The medic wouldn’t say that part though.

Wouldn’t admit that at the height of his paranoia, Red Alert was a _ massive  _ security risk. Likely the worst one the Autobots had. A weapon, just waiting for the right Decepticon to figure out how to use. 

The kind that could end the war, and not in favor of the Autobots. 

So he didn’t bother with protests. Didn’t even pretend that he hadn’t known this was coming.

Red jumped right into the important bits of all this, the stuff that would matter. The things that had to be done right. 

" If the goal is to stabilize me in the times Inferno cannot, then they couldn't bond to him." He said, reading off the internal notes he'd made long ago, when he realized it was going to come down to this. "Having us all bonded together would increase the likelihood of all three of us going down if one mech does or is captured."

Ratchet nodded. "I came to the same conclusion." He agreed. 

Good. For this to work, Red Alert needed them to agree. 

"That leaves an unbalanced bond. Inferno and the other mech would be able to feel each other through me, but wouldn't be able to complete the circuit." He continued. He knew that Ratchet agreed to most of these. That they weren’t really protests, or questions spoken aloud so much as they were statements. 

But it helped, to have them spoken aloud. 

Helped to accept what he could not change--and let him see how much room Ratchet planned on giving him. 

Another nod. "Unfortunate, but so long as it’s managed properly, there shouldn’t be any lasting negative damage. Once the war is over you can all bond together."

_ Once the war was over _ . 

Red Alert snorted aloud, through his vents.

Ratchet gave an understanding wince but otherwise maintained a straight face. 

That was fine. Red simply leapt to his next concern. 

"The mech who bonds to me has to know the act of it will not prevent my glitch nor will it erase it, and that their purpose is to purely keep me  _ functioning _ when they are with me. There is no cure for me. There is no permanent fix, and they must accept that part of me along with all the rest." 

A tall order that one. A lot of mechs incorrectly thought bonding a normal processor to a glitched one would “get rid of” the problems. 

It would not. 

It would only force his processor to accept that person and their thoughts as safe. Pull him out of glitches, yes. Keep the worse effects away and stabilize him, yes. But he could still breakdown, the glitch could still rear up. 

It wouldn't make it go away.

Nothing ever would. 

Not now, not when the war ended, and not any amount of program, hack jobs, or coding patch. 

(Red would know, he’d tried them all.) 

"We have come up with a program for the person who will bond to you. Both to support them throughout your glitches, and to insure they understand exactly what they're getting into. I won't bond you to someone who will end up hurting you, Red. If we hadn't existed all options, if we had more time--" Ratchets voice grew loud, heavy for a moment before he cut himself off. 

Took a vent. 

When he spoke again his tone was calm once more. "I don't care what anyone says. I would never allow this to be an option if I hadn't personally insured the process was done correctly. Every inch of it." 

Red, having seen Ratchet argue against this very procedure since it was first thought up years ago, knew he spoke the truth.

But then that was the very problem, wasn't it? Red Alert had made sure he knew all. Saw all. 

Including the things he shouldn't.

They could never retire him, or have him work in a different position. He wouldn’t step down and they couldn’t make him. He had given himself too many ways back into the system. Nor could he ever resist it. 

The security system was as much a part of him as his own body was. There was no true way to cut him off, no way to keep him out. 

Red _ would _ get back in. His paranoia was too great for him to let it go. 

Putting him in a different position would only put them more at risk to the Cons, something they couldn't afford right now. Retiring him also meant Inferno had to be placed with him 24/7, taking a much needed body out of the field, and the two of them would be extremely limited in where they could go, what they could do.

Nevermind the absolute blow of the Autobots losing the best security director they had. 

"Every player counts." Jazz had said, in the last meeting Red hadn't been invited too but tapped the cameras for anyway. "Losing Red could very well mean losing the war. We can't train someone up to his level this late in the game and honestly, even if we did, we know Reds better. The mech can starve off Shockwave and Soundwave at once. Red's _ special." _

Unspoken: We need him. 

Unspoken: Red himself would never let the job go. Couldn’t. 

Unspoken: Either we fix him, or we kill him. 

And they all loved him too much to kill him. 

Which led Red Alert to his last and final concern. 

"Two mecha forced into a bond creates an unstable connection. The person you bond me too has to be someone who likes me." He didn't bother saying it had to be someone he _ also _ liked. 

"You need someone who understands and can do the job; who is willing to irreversibly change their entire life, and who likes me enough to bond to me. Outside of Inferno, there isn't an Autobot alive that fits that bill."

That Inferno had all of that was a Primus damn miracle as it was.

Finding a second person? A willing person?

No way.

(A niggling part of him worried that the person wouldn't be willing. That they'd be forced, and not in the same way he was being forced; were they'd all known this was coming and had simply pretended Red wasn't listening in, accessing files he had no right too, breaking just as many laws as they discussed the very idea.

He could have protested. 

He was protesting, currently.

But it was a formality. 

Because a part of him, a buried part, a part he didn't want to admit was there, agreed with them.

Nothing else had worked. 

If done right, this would. 

They had discussed this all with Inferno first, whose response was to merely point out that Red had backdoored into his processor in a way that was considered an extreme and perverse invasion of privacy and that if they could find someone else who’d not only accept that kind of behavior, but act as a balance to both himself and Red, he’d welcome them with open arms.

Red didn't trust much. He barely even understood the concept of it. What he did understand was Ratchet's professionalism and Inferno’s love. 

That was enough for him. 

Another mech though? One that matched well enough to m ake this work? There wasn’t a mech alive Red could think of and that set his paranoia off, clenching angrily in his tanks as it grew.) 

Back in the present, Ratchet cracked a smile, albeit a small one. "That," he said, "you can leave to me. But I promise you, the mech’s we decide on won't even be presented to you until I am absolutely positive they will be a good match."

An optic ridge rose. Presenting them implied he got to choose and if he got to choose that meant-- "You're allowing me the right to veto?"

"For now?" Ratchet said. "Yes."

This, Red took to mean that he could veto only a small number, until they grew frustrated with him. He’d have to be careful about why he rejected a match, and even more so to make sure the mech picked balanced not just with him, but with Inferno.

Ratchet waited, no doubt wondering if Red was going to ask if Inferno knew about this.

A tiny part of Red wanted to laugh, because Ratchet should know better. 

He was the one that chewed the firetruck out for letting Red have full and total access to his head. 

"Alright." He said instead, when it became apparent Ratchet wanted to him say  _ something.  _ "I'll await your match."

He’d long had his breakdowns over this. Undoubtedly he’d have more before it was over. But in the moment? 

Red knew he agreed.

This was the sacrifice he'd have to make to help them win the war.

He just wished it wouldn't affect Inferno as much as he knew it would. 

“I’ll contact you when we have one.” Ratchet said, as Red Alert stood. 

The Lamborghini didn’t care to acknowledge. 

xXx

"I saw your picks for Red." Jazz said melting out of the shadows an odd amount of months later. 

Ratchet didn't even flinch. 

"I take it you disapprove?" Ratchet responded without looking away from the data pad in front of him.

Jazz's spook tactics might work on a lot of people, but it had never once worked on him. The ability to be frightened of someone went away when you spent the majority of their lives piecing them back together after they did something dumb. 

"I didn't say that." Jazz said with a little pout, sliding himself into the only other chair in Ratchet’s office. 

"You wouldn't have pulled the spy crap if you agreed with them." Ratchet said plainly, finally looking up from the pad with an unamused glare. "I have been working on matches for Red for three months now. You've had plenty of time to speak up."

“I had to check some things out first. Make sure the option I liked would actually work.” The Porchse said with a dismissive shrug. 

The glare hardened. 

"This is important. This could potentially destroy three lives, Jazz. There isn't room for screw ups." Ratchet said, voice steel. 

For the briefest moments, Jazz’s las a faire attitude vanished, replaced with something more serious. “I know.” He said, before retreating right back into his playful persona, leaning forward on the desk. "An’ I'm not saying I have the best option. I'm saying I can  _ give _ him an option. Someone to pick instead of being _ given _ to." 

Ratchet held Jazz’s optics through his visor. Other mecha could never see through it.

The medic always could. 

"You know how his glitch works. It won't let him play the kind of mind games you enjoy." 

Jazz took the insult and Ratchet's increasingly furious tone of voice in stride. 

"It's not that. It's an illusion of choice." He said, with a smile that was just as fake as the personality he was playing. The medic knew the real one of course, the Jazz that was hidden away. That had appeared here, for only the briefest of seconds. 

Ratchet stared hard, searching once again for that Jazz to surface. 

It was useless. 

"We both know whatever you're going to do, you will do anyway, regardless of mine or anyone else's opinions." The medic snapped. "So why bother telling me beforehand?” 

“Same reason I always do. I might need your help, and you do better if I let you in from the beginning.” 

The CMO could feel his processor kick into overdrive, the first sign of an oncoming headache.

“You never give me specifics.” He growled, though he reigned in some of his tone. He did prefer Jazz came to him first, give him a heads up even if it was only to speak those exact words. Being angry at him wouldn’t make him want to repeat the behavior in the future, hard as it was to not yell at him then and there. 

“Will you at least tell me which mech you’re considering?” He continued, when Jazz chose not to say anything more.

All he got was a smile in return. 

xXx

Trailbreaker was confused.

He was used to being confused, mostly because things went too fast for him to figure out, but partly because he'd learned early on protests regarding where he was sent or what he was doing fell on deaf audios. 

_ This _ was new though. 

"You're technically part of security, aren't you? That's your base unit?" Jazz,  _ third in command of the entire Autobot army and head of the spec ops department, _ asked, an arm casually draped around the back of his chair. 

In the chair opposing Jazz, Trailbreaker sat ramrod straight. They were in Breaker’s office, though Jazz had called him into it as if the shorter mech owned it, taking the seat behind the blockier mech’s desk as if it were his.

The Jeep had just shut up and sat down like the good soldier he was. 

He'd been called in to use his talents by all kinds of mechs--but rarely one so high up in command. Definitely never by Jazz himself.

The mech was  _ infamous.  _

Mostly for how many ways he could murder you in your sleep. 

"Yes." He said, trying not to trip over his words or say something stupid. "When I'm not on a mission I manage the security department for Ultra Magnus’s unit’s." 

Which wasn't saying much. Security on the Wreckers ship was a joke and the Autobots' various space stations weren't much better. Most of it could be handled by three mechs, himself included.

It wasn't like he was managing the Cybertron or Earth bases. 

A data pad appeared in Jazz's hand, the movement so smooth it looked like magic. 

"Says here you're good at your job. Good enough for Red Alert himself to recommend you for a higher position." Jazz said easily. 

Trailbreaker gaped at the words, surprise rolling off his field in waves. He couldn't stop himself, couldn’t react appropriately. Anyone would--because outside of his talent, Trailbreaker was absolutely  _ useless. _

"Red Alert recommended me?" He repeated, unable to believe it. 

He liked the security director well enough, and as a manager he'd attended the monthly meetings Red Alert required, some in person, most over the internet. 

The Lamborghini however, wasn't the type to heap on praise. 

Or acknowledge success, really. 

The one time he had been complimented by the mech Breaker had spent the better portion of the next week trying to figure out if he'd imagined it. 

"Mmm _ hmm _ ." Jazz hummed, visor on the data pad as one finger flicked across the screen, scrolling through pages. "He wanted you as assistant director, in fact. We had to say no, your talent was too important to us, but you were his first pick."

Yet another shock he couldn't cover.

Red Alert,  _ thee _ Red Alert, paranoid perfectionist, wanted _ him _ to be his second in command!?

"I'm not suited for that position though." Breaker found himself saying, unable to keep it in. 

Because it was the truth.

The security gig was a handout. A place to put him. It kept him safe, off the front lines until needed, and out of enemy hands. Forced him to be busy, in the way that any job kept one busy. It gave him the clearance needed to be protected during a siege and a position he could be pulled away from when they actually needed him without much fuss. 

Pulled away to actually earn his keep, because his damn tank required so much energy to fuel he was essentially robbing the Bots blind. 

He hated it. He could run on less. Breaker did it as often as he could, trying to stick within the regular Autobot portion size. Often less, though if he got too woozy people would notice. 

Sure it cost him his outlier ability, but it wasn't needed. Not on the regular. Only for special missions, and even then half the time he didn’t need it to be running at full power. 

Yet, his medics had all been instructed to keep a close optic on his intake. To check in on him. To discuss why he needed to take almost _ four times  _ the amount even the largest mecha did. 

Why he--or rather, his ability-- was needed.

Except he could use it within two hours of fueling and hit full strength of his ability in 6, and everywhere they sent him took longer than that just to get there.

So why bother?

Better yet, why would Red Alert want him as his assistant director!?

Jazz was staring up at him, his movements still relaxed, entirely at ease.

His optics, just barely seen from beneath his visor, were like a cats though. The bigger kind from Earth, who looked at you like they saw your spark. 

"Why's that?" Jazz asked, and it took Trailbreaker a moment to realize he meant why the Jeep didn't deserve such a job. 

"Oh. I uh--" and this was embarrassing but it wasn't like Jazz didn't know. Everyone knew. "I can’t hold do that and also be available to use my outlier ability. That's what-"  _ you guys keep me around for _ , he almost said, but knew better than too. 

He liked Rung, he did, but mandatory therapy wasn't exactly something he wanted a repeat of. 

Time to recover, quick! "Well. I guess I just thought in the long run, using my ability was more important than my time spent in security.” 

The Jazz Cat Stare (capital letters given for the sheer way it unnerved the Jeep) continued on for some time, until Trailbreaker started to fidget. 

"We did give you the security gig as an easy way to keep you on hand." Jazz confirmed, after a moment, delivering a dizzying emotional punch, the kind Trailbreaker didn't think should hurt but made him want to bend over double anyway. 

"But we picked it out of dozens of such jobs because it was something we thought you'd succeed at. Apparently," one finger tapped the side of the data pad, "-you did."

It was funny how close those sentences were, but how all Trailbreaker heard was a truth and a lie. 

"Having reviewed your qualifications, I think I agree with Red's assessment. You'd make a good assistant director." Jazz continued, flicking his fingers and making the data pad vanish between them. 

No, there was no way. No way he was going to say Trailbreaker had been promoted, not just because it was ridiculous but because Jazz wasn’t even in the Security unity at all. He didn’t have the power to promote him, only Red Alert could do that! 

“I’d like to offer it to you, on behalf of the Autobot army.” Jazz said, running right over the top of Trailbreaker’s internal protests. “Trailbreaker of Jhiaxus, I formally present a promotion, effective immediately. Should you choose to accept it you will return to the Ark on Earth with me, and start your new position.” 

Trailbreaker was gaping again. He knew he was, even though he had no conscious control of his mouth. His audios kept resetting in his disbelief, his processor spinning.

There had to be a catch. He decided wildly. Something crazy. Ridiculous. 

"The catch," Jazz continued with a grin, as though reading the Jeep’s mind, “Is that I need you to do a little work for me on the side.”

“What kind of work?” Trailbreaker heard himself say, his own voice sounding far away. 

“Nothing too serious. Just keeping tabs on Red Alert. See his glitch is getting worse…”

In the next thirty minutes Jazz spun one of the best lies of his life. It included everything he needed it too, without ever one tipping the mech before him off. 

Trailbreaker, familiar with being used but never in a way such as this, ate it right up. 

Then and there he accepted the position. 

Two days later he went back to the Ark with Jazz. 

Three days and he found himself entrenched in his new life, still confused as to how he got there, but all too happy to help. 

Lucky for him, Red Alert knew better. 

xXx

::Ratchet.:: Red Alert said, his tone icey over the comms. ::My understanding of our situation was that I would be told when a new match was being presented to me.:: 

::That’s correct.:: Ratchet said, keeping his tone even. Red had been touchy since this had begun, something the medic couldn’t blame him for. The least he could do was keep his temper in check. 

::Then why was Trailbreaker promoted without my permission or knowledge?:: 

The words froze Ratchet entirely, hand literally stuck in the air. 

::When did that happen?:: He asked, not bothering to keep the surprise out of his voice. Red Alert had algorithms he ran their conversations through later, there was no point in hiding it. It would only be seen as more suspicious. 

::Yesterday evening. He came back with Jazz, and showed up to his first shift this morning. I was not informed or involved in his promotion.:: Red Alert’s own tone was clipped, his displeasure obvious. ::Jazz has informed him that he needs to keep close tabs on me as part of a new program designed to help me with my glitches.:: 

And oh, yeah, that’d piss the red mech off alright. 

::Did Trailbreaker tell you that?:: 

::I haven’t met with him yet, but he didn’t have to.:: Red replied, without specifying how or why he knew. To him, the answer was obvious. ::It is absolutely clear that Jazz had ulterior motives bringing him here, ones he has not yet informed Trailbreaker of.::

And now Ratchet was pissed off, if only because he had promised. That all matches would be done with the utmost consideration, that the way they handled this would be done as right as they could make it. 

Yet here Jazz was, throwing wrenches and mechs into the plan. 

Again.

::I’ll speak with him.:: He snarled, letting his rage be heard over the comm. It wasn’t directed at Red, and he knew the paranoid mech would understand it was directed at Jazz and not him. ::Do you want me to intercept Trailbreaker and send him back?::

It would be an awful thing to do to a mech, promote him and drag him to Earth, only to inform him Jazz had been overruled and send him right back, no promotion in hand. 

Ratchet had done worse things to better people. 

::No. He’s one of two mechs I would accept as an appropriate assistant director, and if this is the way I get to keep him as such, I will. But tell Jazz.:: The town went from icy to downright freezing, a tone Ratchet had only heard from Red Alert a few times before, ::That I understand what he’s up to and that I am not happy with him.::

::Will do.:: Ratchet said with a sigh, before closing the comm. “Dammit Jazz.” He said under his breath, ignoring the urge to bang his head against the wall. It had taken him this long just to properly select three potential prospects and here Jazz was, happily throwing an unknown into things and being incredibly see through about it. 

“You know better than to let Red Alert see you do all this.” He continued, thinking aloud as he stared hard at his desk, trying to force things to make sense. “You let him see you manipulate things on purpose. Why?” 

The desk didn’t have an answer for him. 


End file.
